Whitney Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
by wujy
Summary: Book Two in my Girl Who Lived series. The beloved story told with a unique and thoughtful twist. How do girls act differently than boys and how does society treat them differently?
1. What the Next Year Holds

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Author Note: My Girl Who Lived series is based upon myself at Harry's age, and progresses along a slightly different path from the books. I strongly encourage you to read the first installment before reading this one, since there are several differences from JKR's original works.

I had a number of people request for me to write a sequel to WPPS, so here it is. Thank you so much to all of my wonderful readers who have supported me. I will try to post as often as I am able to write, but Chamber of Secrets is possibly my favorite book, so I'm going to try to make it extra special. Enjoy this, the christening chapter, and as always, please review.

/-wujy

* * *

Chapter One – What the Next Year Holds

* * *

It was one o'clock in the morning, and Whitney was sitting on her bed, staring at her hand. Her palm was upturned and a single bobby pin lay on top of it. She looked from the bobby pin to the lock on Lily's cage and back to the bobby pin again. "Fred said it would work," she said to Lily, who was staring at the girl with an owl's wide, discerning eyes. "He said that locks have got pens in them, or something, and that you just have to click them the right way."

Lily looked doubtful, and so did Whitney. Nevertheless, Whitney crept closer to the cage, careful to skip over the creaky board in her floor, under which she'd hidden several of her favorite things from the magical world. She took the lock in hand and turned it over as far as she could, inspecting it.

"I don't know any reason there would be pens in a lock," Whitney said to the owl. "I prefer quills anyway."

She sighed and held the bobby pin aloft, sticking one end into the lock. She wiggled it around for a moment, trying to feel the individual "pens," but it all felt like a mess of metal to her untrained hand. Whitney bit her bottom lip as she tried to concentrate on finding some hidden nook where the bobby pin would simply fit, so she could turn the lock and let Lily out into the night, but there was no such lock. Letting go of the lock and leaving the bobby pin sticking out of it, Whitney sat down on the floor behind her and crossed her arms over her chest.

"This is stupid," she declared to Lily, who turned her head ninety degrees clockwise in agreement. "If we were at school, I'd just spell it off."

School for Whitney, as of a year ago, was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where a flick of her wand and the proper word would have popped the lock open easily. Somehow, magic was a much simpler concept to the girl than the pins of a Muggle lock, which was a comforting thought in that Whitney knew she truly belonged in the world of magic. Unfortunately, that thought wasn't doing anything to open Lily's cage and let the poor owl stretch her wings.

"I'm sorry, Lily," Whitney whispered. "I'm rubbish without my wand."

She sniffed and rubbed a stubborn tear off of her cheek. Lily hooted softly, encouragingly even. It had been a difficult summer since Whitney had returned from Hogwarts. The Dursleys treated her as though she were a ghost—ignoring her when they were able, speaking about her as though she wasn't in the room, and skirting around her in hallways like they might catch their deaths. It would all be the same to Whitney one way or another, but it was made harder by the fact that her friends from Hogwarts were apparently doing the same. Even Lily seemed to notice the lack of letters from her friends, and when Whitney's birthday fast approaching, she'd been a little on the emotional side.

Whitney pulled the bobby pin from the lock, tucked it back into her pillowcase for safekeeping, and covered up with her fraying blanket. She turned over, her back toward the offending lock, and fell asleep, feeling absolutely wretched.

/-

The following morning, Whitney made her way downstairs only to be properly confronted by her uncle and aunt. After having been largely ignored for the better part of the summer, she was mildly taken aback at being so forcefully spoke to.

"Girl," her uncle beckoned gruffly. "Come here."

Whitney looked uncertain, but she approached the table. "Yes?" she asked, a little confused.

"Don't take that tone with me, you ragamuffin," her uncle commanded. This rather amused Whitney because, even though she was presently wearing some of Dudley's enormous hand-me-downs, Uncle Vernon couldn't have known that she kept two sets of brand-new clothes under her floorboard upstairs.

"And don't smirk like that," Petunia snapped.

"Right," Whitney said, wiping the half-smile off her face. "What was it?"

"You have your instructions for the evening," Vernon said. "You're to stay in your room, make no noise and—"

"Pretend I'm not there," Whitney finished for him, nodding.

"Precisely," Vernon said, his voice filled with warning. "And stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning today."

Whitney wondered to herself when she had ever prevented Petunia from cleaning, and in the process of the thought, decided it wasn't worth this nonsense to eat breakfast with her family. She turned around to step out of the kitchen when a thought occurred to her.

She turned slowly to look at her uncle, who had since resume drinking a nasty cup of thick, black coffee. She cleared her throat to get his attention and he turned to her with dangerous eyes.

"I… Well, I was only thinking that it's going to be really hard to make sure that Lily keeps quiet all evening," she said in a small voice.

Vernon's face turned deep shade of red as his rage bubbled to the top. Whitney saw a shouting match approaching, but she held up defensive hands and clarified, "I can really only do so much to make sure she keeps silent. I can't exactly put a muzzle on a bird, you know. If I could just let her out of the cage, she could go and sleep in a tree somewhere tonight."

Whitney couldn't almost hear the clockwork ticking away in Vernon's brain. His greatest fear in Whitney having the owl was that it would be in and out at all hours, delivering mail from Whitney's "freak friends," but this business deal was just important enough that it might be the thing to change his mind, at least for a night. Whitney waited in silence, wondering if her uncle's head might just pop off and whiz around the room like a balloon if he didn't come to a conclusion soon.

When his answer did come, it was short and abrupt, but favorable. "Tonight," he said simply, pulling a key from his pocket and tossing it across the kitchen at her. "I'm warning you, brat," he said dangerously, the color of his face dimming from purple back to a mottled red, "if that ruddy bird so much as peeks through a window at us tonight, I'll have its wings clipped."

Whitney, understanding that this was not an idle threat, ran upstairs to her room with her prize in hand. Lily was less than thrilled at being woken up in the early hours of the morning, but hooted happily when she saw that Whitney was unlocking and opening the cage. Lily hopped forward and out of the cage, stretching her wings as far as they would go.

Keeping her voice low, Whitney spoke quickly to the owl. "I want you to go and find Ron or Neville, okay?" she asked. "Whoever lives closer. I want you stay with them the rest of the summer and I'll see you again at school."

Lily nipped at Whitney's hand, annoyed, but Whitney shook her head. "I know, and I'm sorry. I wouldn't ask you to leave, but my uncle's a nutter and he's just going to put you back in the cage if you come back. It's for the best, I promise, at least for now."

Lily took a moment to nudge the back of Whitney's hand with the top of her head, and her wingtips brushed the girl's cheek as she took flight and left through the open window. Whitney sighed heavily as she watched the owl go, now truly alone for the first time since she'd found out about magic last year. She took in a sharp breath and denied the tears that threatened to overcome her, looking instead to the key in her hand. "Suppose I'll have to give you back, then," she said to the key, her own voice echoing in the empty room.

/-

Whitney spent the rest of the day in her room following her uncle's orders to the letter. She had retrieved _History Through the Ages_ from the loose floorboard in her room and was sitting next to her window, straining to read it with only the moonlight outside. She frowned in annoyance each time a cloud passed by, throwing her into darkness, but she was nothing if not patient, especially since this book was her last remaining tie to the wizarding world.

Or it was, until a nearby popping noise signaled the entrance of a small, brown creature with enormous features. Whitney's mouth popped open as she stared.

The creature bowed low to her, his long nose nearly touching the floor. "Whitney Potter," he squeaked in a high-pitched voice. "Such an honor to be meeting you, miss."

Whitney closed her mouth and cleared her throat. She set her book aside. "Nice to, er… meet you," she replied, "whoever you are."

"Dobby, miss. Dobby, the house-elf."

Whitney nodded, but flinched as Petunia's fake laughter drifted up the stairs. Whitney licked her drying lips. "Well, Dobby… er, I'm not really…" She looks down at herself. "I'm not really dressed to have guests in my room."

"Guests!" Dobby squealed, and Whitney cringed. "Never has a witch ever called Dobby a guest! A guest of Whitney Potter!"

Whitney heard an eerie silence from downstairs and anticipated the housework she would have to do as punishment the next day. "Uh, well, I know that we've only just met, Dobby, but might I ask a personal favor?"

Dobby looked at Whitney with watery, tear-filled eyes at the request. "A… A personal… A favor. Whitney Potter wants to ask Dobby for a—"

Whitney interrupted him before he could get loud again. "Well, I was just hoping that you could be very, very quiet," she said. "My aunt and uncle are entertaining downstairs and I'm to make no noise up here. I would owe you one, if you could just be… quieter."

"Owe… Owe Dobby a… favor…" His voice was considerable softer, but as tears began to spill over the brims of his eyelids, he sobbed hysterically. Panicking, Whitney leapt forward to grab the pillow from her bed and handed it to him.

"Here," she said quickly. "Into the pillow. Into the pillow. Shh… Er, there-there."

Dobby took the pillow and it muffled his cried for the most part, while Whitney looked awkwardly around the room, hoping for some idea of what to do about this.

"So, you said… you were a house-elf, eh?" Whitney asked in an attempt to make conversation. "What is… I mean, what exactly is a house-elf?"

Dobby sniffled a few more times, and Whitney dreaded what house-elf snot would do to the case, but tried not to think about it now. "A house-elf serves a wizarding family, miss," Dobby answered. "Dobby is bound to serve his family forever."

Whitney looks miserably to her bedroom door where she can hear her uncle telling an awful joke that he thinks is funny. "That sounds familiar," she says. "I do the cooking and the cleaning and the wash and the gutters, and still I'm locked upstairs when company is over."

She sighs and looks to Dobby. "So, why was it you came?" she asked. "Just to visit? I'm happy to visit, but it's not the best of times now."

"Ah, miss!" Dobby exclaimed, before clamping his hands over his mouth apologetically. "Dobby has come to protect Whitney Potter, to warn her even if he has to punish himself severely for disobeying his family. Whitney Potter must not return to Hogwarts."

Of all the things Dobby could have said, this was something Whitney had least expected. "Not… Not go back?" Whitney asked, looking around her room. "I can't not go back," she said. "Have you seen where I live? Who I stay with? I have to go back."

Dobby shook his head quickly. "No no no. Whitney Potter must not return to Hogwarts. She is to precious. She is too important. It is too dangerous."

Whitney snorted at this. "It's always dangerous for me, Dobby. No matter where I go, danger seems to find me. But I'm safer at Hogwarts than I am here."

"But there is a plot, Whitney Potter. There is a terrible—there is a horrible—there is a devious plot to make terrible things happen. Dobby has known it for months, miss. For months!"

Whitney sat on the floor next to Dobby and her pillow and put her hands on his shoulders. "I really appreciate that you've come to tell me this," Whitney said slowly. "It's really very sweet of you, but Hogwarts is my home."

"But, miss—!" Dobby began, but Whitney interrupted him with a question he did not expect.

"Do you like being a house-elf, Dobby?"

Dobby was struck silent for a moment, his large, lipless mouth hanging open for a second. He started to shake his head, but then leapt onto the nightstand and slammed his fingers into the drawer, squealing loudly. Whitney darted forward to cover his mouth and to stop him from slamming the drawer again. She wrestled him back to the ground, and held him firmly in her lap until he stopped struggling against her. He crawled away and back to the pillow after a moment and Whitney could hear Vernon making some excuse about a cat making noise upstairs.

Whitney breathed slowly and steadily. "I don't mean for you to punish yourself," Whitney said slowly, "but if you had the chance to stop being a house-elf, even if the alternative was something dangerous, wouldn't you do it?"

Dobby was silent for several moments, after which he tugged a stack of envelopes from his clothes and dropped them onto the floor. Whitney was startled to see them for a moment, but when she realized what they were, she reached for them slowly. "My… mail?" she asked, reading the names of her friends on them. She saw several birthday cards that would have arrived that day, too.

"Dobby thought if Whitney Potter thought her friends had forgotten her, she might not want to go back to school," Dobby said apologetically. "Dobby cannot always sneak away from his family, miss, but Dobby will try to help Whitney Potter stay safe at Hogwarts."

Whitney looked up at Dobby and smiled softly. "Then that's two I owe you," she said quietly, and Dobby disappeared.


	2. Rescue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

* * *

Chapter Two – Rescue

* * *

After Dobby left, Whitney breathed slowly in the silence of her room. She would have to avoid Vernon until school started again if she wanted to avoid a beating after the racket Dobby had made during the dinner party. Still, the letters Dobby had left for her would be worth it, even if Vernon managed to catch her. She started with the ones that looked the oldest and read all the way through the birthday greetings.

Hermione had invited her to stay over for a few days to get their summer essays finished, though she was certain to have already finished by now. Ron had apparently told his mum about Whitney's aunt and uncle, and Mrs. Weasley had in turn invited Whitney to come and stay for as long as she liked. The letter was followed by a small scribbling from Ginny, Ron's younger sister, expressing her excitement at having Whitney stay. Whitney was both touched by Mrs. Weasley's offer, and very sorry she hadn't been able to respond to Ginny's letter.

Neville had also expressed an invite for a visit, but had apparently done so at the wishes of his grandmother, who thought that Whitney could be a good influence on him. _Don't get me wrong,_ he had written, _I'd like you to visit. It's just that my gran thinks having you around to rub off on me will turn me into this great wizard like my dad._

By the time Whitney had finished reading the letters, she was feeling loved and missed very, very sorry that she had sent Lily away for the rest of the summer. Would her friends believe her when she told them that an elf wearing a pillowcase had prevented her from getting any of their letters? That her uncle had kept Lily locked up in a cage before that? More than that, how would she even make it to King's Cross at the end of the summer? Maybe if Dobby came back, she could convince him to disappear her, or whatever.

But Whitney wouldn't let the thought make her miserable for long, not while she was surrounded by letters from friends and others who cared. She sighed and tucked the letters under the loose floorboard as the party downstairs drew to a close. From her open window, she could hear the sounds of the Masons' car start and drive down the street. The footsteps that approached her door a few minutes later were not the heady clod of her uncle or the clumsy waddle of her cousin, so Whitney stood up from the floor and smoothed down her hair to prepare to face her aunt.

Petunia opened the door, towering over her niece. "Your uncle signed his deal with Mr. Mason," Petunia said, her nostril's flaring. "No thanks to you and your _inability_ to follow the simplest of instructions. Tomorrow," Petunia hissed, "you will prepare a celebratory breakfast, and I'll have a list of chores for you to complete after. You may eat when you've finished it."

Whitney said nothing, her eyes trained on her aunt's shoes, and the door slammed shut a moment later. Whitney let go of a breath she'd been holding and flopped back onto her bed. That hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd expected it to be. They must have been in a forgiving mood, and Whitney was happy to skip the thrashing if she could work instead.

And work, she did. After cooking a breakfast, Whitney cleaned the windows, washed the car, and saw to all of the gardening before her aunt was satisfied enough to let her rest. Smelling of sweat and manure, with an angry sunburn on every inch of exposed skin, Whitney walked slowly through the house across a trail of newspapers her aunt had left for her. After an ice cold shower and a vigorous application of aloe to her sunburn, Whitney picked at some of the leftovers of the breakfast she'd made, but found that her face hurt too much to open her mouth very far. She went back upstairs without eating much—and really not very hungry anyway—and lay herself out on her bed. She was asleep within seconds.

/-

Whitney didn't sleep for long before she was woken by a sharp pain in her chest like someone shoving needles into her. She groaned, groggy from exhaustion, and turned onto her side, punching her pillow for good measure. Something swiped the side of her face then, and the familiar annoyed hoot of an owl finally brought her back from her heavy sleep. She opened her eyes one at a time, prying them open slowly, and setting her bleary gaze on Lily.

"Lily?" Whitney asked softly, wondering if she was still dreaming. Lily answered by cuffing Whitney's cheek with one wing and lifting a leg to which a letter had been tied. In a fog, Whitney reached forward and fumbled with the string for a moment. She unrolled the small letter, held it up to the moonlight coming in through the window, and read it through once. Confused, but beginning to wake up at last, she sat up and read through the letter three more times.

_Dear Whitney,_

_I sincerely hope that an owl arriving with no letter isn't anything like a horse arriving without its rider._

_If you can, send your address back with Lily. My parents and I will pick you up in two days._

_Hermione_

Whitney blinked dumbly in the dark of her room, not quite understanding. She scratched Lily on top of her head lightly. "Hermione?" she asked. "Does Hermione live nearby?"

Hedwig hooted affirmatively and then scratched the back of Whitney's hand. "Ow! All right, all right."

Whitney slid from her bed to the floor and retrieved a quill and vial of ink from beneath her loose floorboard. She quickly scratched out the address on the back of Hermione's note and rolled it back up. She held it up, ready to tie it to Lily's leg, but paused. "If they come here," she said aloud to Lily, "they'll see. They'll see where I live. They'll meet my aunt and uncle and cousin."

She put the note down again and looked at Lily, kneeling next to the bed frame. "What if they're terrible and Hermione just leaves without me? What if she tells everyone at school? They ruin everything. I can't have them ruin Hogwarts for me."

Lily didn't answer… because she was an owl. She did, however, walk across the bedspread to stand directly in front of Whitney, and dart forward quickly, smacking the flat top of her beak against Whitney's forehead.

Whitney gasped and rubbed her forehead where a red mark was growing. "Fine, fine," she said. "Uncalled for, by the way," she added, trying the note to Lily's leg with the string left over from Hermione's note. Lily merely brushed a soft wing over Whitney's face as she lifted herself from the bed and flew through the window.

Whitney smiled despite herself. In a little over twenty-four hours, Hermione and her parents would meet the Dursleys, but they would be taking Whitney with them when they left. If she was very lucky, the Dursleys would be glad enough to be rid of her to not give Hermione's parents a difficult time. They were Muggles, too, Whitney knew, so at least they wouldn't show up wearing robes and waving wands.

In fact, when they did arrive at half past ten in the morning, they arrived in a respectable, yet rather expensive vehicle. The car was light blue and newly waxed, glinting in the sun overhead as it was parked across the street. Its mere appearance sent the Dursleys into a tizzy.

"Who on earth…?" Petunia wondered aloud. She, of course, was the first to notice the arrival of someone new and presumably well-to-do. She patted her already neat hair automatically as she craned her neck to peer through the kitchen window.

"Probably just one of the neighbors being audited!" Vernon announced, and then laughed as though he found the misfortune of someone else to be jolly fun.

"But they're coming up our walk," Petunia said, sounding nervous after her husband's comment about an audit. "They don't look… like auditors," she said slowly, turning her head to look at Whitney who was trying desperately to blend into the wallpaper of the kitchen. "They've got a girl with them," Petunia said in a low tone, coming to a conclusion.

Vernon, however, didn't seem to catch on as quickly. He was still focused on the morning newspaper and a mug of the swill he called coffee. "A young girl," Petunia clarified, prodding Vernon's shoulder with one of her bony fingers. "About Dudley's age." When that didn't get his attention, she hissed, "About _her_ age." She pointed to Whitney, whose attempts at camouflage had clearly failed.

She had his attention now. Vernon slammed his paper down on the table, sending bits of scrambled egg across the table, and settled his glare on Whitney. Dudley, who had been completely preoccupied by the food in front of his face, stopped stuffing himself to watch what was sure to be a spectacular display of his father's rage.

"You… You gave one of _them_ our _address_!" he demanded. "One of your lot?"

Whitney didn't know what to say at first, so she said the very first thing that came to mind. "They're not like me. They're dentists."

At that moment, the doorbell rang and Whitney jumped up from her seat, calling, "I'll get the door!"

She darted from the room and reached the door before anyone else had any time to react. She opened it very quickly, hoping to leave before having to introduce anyone to anyone else. She'd be in enough trouble when she got back from school at the beginning of next summer, but there was a slight chance she could avoid her uncle's wrath until then, and she intended to take it.

"Whitney!" Hermione greeted cheerfully at the door. "It's good to see you. I was afraid—"

Whatever Hermione had been afraid of, Whitney never found out, for at that moment, her Uncle Vernon appeared behind her like an angry bear, his moustache twitching with suppressed rage. Whitney closed her eyes tightly and sighed, trying to breathe down the sinking feeling in her stomach. She cleared her throat and looked up at Hermione's parents. They looked so nice. It was a shame, really.

"Uncle Vernon," Whitney said in a small, hesitant voice. "This is Hermione and her parents, Dr. and Dr. Granger."

Hermione's father was a tall, in-shape gentleman in a three-piece suit whose hair was just beginning to silver over his ears. He wore a smile as he reached for Vernon's hand and was apparently oblivious to the fact that the situation was tense.

"Henry," he said, introducing himself, shaking Vernon's bloated hand. "My wife, Moira."

Moira was beautiful. Her hair was the same color as Hermione's, but instead of a bushy mess, it fell in elegant waves nearly to her waist. She was wearing a pale pink business suit and a small, pillbox hat was pinned atop her hair. Unlike her husband, she didn't seem to be quite so unaware of the angry, awkward silence that was now spreading. She didn't take Vernon's hand, but instead nodded her head as politely as she could manage.

"Lovely to meet you," she said graciously.

"And this must be your lovely wife," Henry Granger said as Petunia peeked her head out of the kitchen. His smile was genuine and Whitney shot a warning look to Hermione, who only shrugged helplessly. Taking that to mean that Hermione had not briefed her parents on the Dursley's demeanors, Whitney braced herself for the worst.

Petunia didn't even blink at Hermione's father; her eyes were glued to the gorgeous Moira Granger. "Thought you'd stop in for _tea_, did you?" she asked, clearly despising the woman without having ever previously spoken to her.

Whitney took in a sharp breath as Hermione's father appeared ready to accept the non-invitation, but Moira placed a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder and answered the question herself.

"How kind," she said, a trace amount of uncertainty in her voice, "but we really only came to retrieve Whitney and her school things. If you'd be a lamb," she said, looking down to Whitney, "we really must be going soon."

Whitney was upstairs and downstairs in record time, a small bag of things clutched to her chest. No one in the hall had moved an inch one way or another, not even to close the door, and the air was thick enough to swim through. Which cleared her throat and said, "The… rest of the things are in the cupboard… un-under the stairs."

Her uncle pulled a key from his pocket and handed it silently to Whitney, who threw a lightning glance at Hermione. Hermione leapt forward and followed Whitney to the cupboard while her father made a sorry attempt at conversation.

"It'll be good for the girls to have a bit of time before school starts," he was saying. "Finish up their holiday homework."

"I really hope he doesn't mention us not being allowed to do magic outside school," Whitney whispered to Hermione as they opened the cupboard door to retrieve the trunk within. She glanced to the adults, who had fallen back to silence, and pulled a bar of soap from her pocket. She placed they key on the floor and the soap on top of it and stood on top of the soap until it had sunk a good measure over the key, then tucked the soap back in her pocket. Hermione gave her a questioning look, but Whitney shook her head.

Together, the pair of them dragged the trunk down the hall, past the kitchen where Dudley was cowering beneath a table with his hands clasped firmly over his buttocks.

"What's he doing that for?" Hermione asked.

Again, Whitney shook her head. "Long story. Good one for the car ride. Let's just get your parents to safety."

"Ah, excellent," Henry exclaimed into the balmy silence. "Here come the girls now."

He took the trunk from them and hefted it in both hands. "Shall we, then?" he wife asked, though it's clear it wasn't really a question.

"Good meeting you!" Henry called as he turned toward his lovely, expensive car with Whitney's trunk in his hands. The Dursleys, as expected, didn't reply. They just watched with offended expressions as Whitney got into the car with them and they drove away. Only when the car had reached the end of the street did Whitney sigh heavily with relief.

"Thank you," she said to Hermione and her parents. She leaned her forehead against the window of the car and added in a low tone, "Thank you, very much."


	3. New Experiences

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Note: Someone pointed out to me that I didn't have Whitney get Dudley's second bedroom in my first book, and they were right. I goofed a little, but I have attempted to fix it in this chapter by inserting an explanation. Sorry, to anyone I confused.

* * *

Chapter Three – New Experiences

* * *

Henry Granger was a jovial fellow, and one who enjoyed hearing himself speak. He talked about everything. He talked about the weather, and the traffic, and dentistry, and what little he knew of magic, and how nice—if quiet—Petunia and Vernon had been. He talked about the news, and politics, and music, and about the celebrity couple whose relationship he followed by reading the headlines of the magazines that he placed in the waiting room of his offices. He talked, in fact, during the entire car ride from Four Privet Drive to Seven Scarlet Boulevard, which turned out to be barely twenty-five minutes away. Whitney thought he was funny, but Hermione was clearly annoyed.

In the front passenger's seat, Moira Granger was silently flipping through pages in a manila folder, occasionally makes notes. Despite her preternatural beauty, she was rather tight-lipped and stern-looking. For some reason Whitney couldn't place, Moira reminded her strongly of Professor McGonagall.

While her father was talking boisterously about what he had planned to make for dinner, Hermione turned to Whitney in the back seat and asked, "You're making a mold, aren't you?"

Whitney looked confused, so Hermione elaborated. "The soap! You're making a key mold with the soap."

"Oh," Whitney said, smiling genuinely for the first time all summer. She pulled the bar of soap out of her pocket and showed Hermione the deep impression of the key she had made in one side. "This one's to the cupboard under the stairs," she said. "They've kept all of my school things that I couldn't save locked up in there since I got back. I haven't gotten a single thing done."

She turned over the bar of soap and showed Hermione another, smaller, key impression. "This one's to Lily's cage. My uncle kept her locked up all summer, too. I don't know how to make the key, though. I thought I might ask Mr. Ollivander when we go to buy our school things."

"Brilliant," Hermione said, shaking her head. "But won't they notice the soap is missing?"

Whitney rolled her eyes. "Not likely," she replied. "My aunt practically buys soap by the crate. Since I don't _usually_ go around nicking it, she'll probably just think she's used it already."

Hermione grinned, but after a moment, her smile faltered.

"I was really worried something had happened," Hermione said. "I mean… he probably shouldn't have, but Ron told me some about your… family. What they're like."

Whitney turned away at the thought of Ron sharing personal information, though the summer would have been much worse had he kept it to himself. She shrugged. "I wish I could have written you back," she said instead, "but I didn't even get any of your letters until a couple of nights ago."

"Didn't get them?" Hermione asked. "But owls are supposed to be specially trained to get letters to people on time. The pamphlet at the Owl Office said that they had been successfully serving the wizarding community since the thirteen hundreds. Oh, I should have _known_ that was nonsense."

Whitney laughed a little, but waved her hands to calm down her clearly offended friend. "It's not because of the owls," Whitney said, then shook her head at Hermione's questioning look. "I'll explain later."

It was at about that time that the Grangers' car pulled into the driveway of one of a number of identical, two-story houses that occupied Scarlet Boulevard. The house was a rich tan color, like coffee with cream, and the shutters and door were dark blue. The front yard—which was green enough to turn Vernon the same color with envy—was lined by a short, meticulously-kept hedge, and a skinny stone walk connected the front door to the driveway.

Whitney allowed herself a small smile as Hermione's father pulled the car into the connecting garage and the door rattled closed behind them.

"Well, here we are at last," Hermione's father announced, putting one elbow over his seat and looking at t girls in the back. "Casa-de-Granger," he elaborated, and Whitney grinned.

"Thank you very much for having me," she said.

Barely looking up from what she was reading, Hermione's mother replied, "We're happy to have you, dear. We're just delighted that Hermione's made a friend."

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat at this, but Whitney put her hand over Hermione's and said, "Yeah, she's great. A real life-saver."

Moira closed her folder and looked over her shoulder at Whitney, giving her a soft smile. "Well, I'm glad," she said before unbuckling her seat belt and sliding out of the car.

Hermione threw a grateful glance at Whitney, who squeezed Hermione's hand lightly in return, and the pair of them followed Hermione's parents out of the garage.

/-

Hermione's father, as it turned out, was a quite talented cook.

"I went to culinary school for two years before deciding to become a dentist," he explained, throwing a dishtowel over one shoulder and dropping couple tablespoons of oil into a pan on the stove. The oil hissed as he swirled it around the bottom, as did the diced onions he threw in a moment later. Whitney and Hermione were sitting at an island counter in the middle of the large kitchen while Moira finished her paperwork. She organized the books for the dental practice, Hermione had told Whitney earlier.

"Why did you decide to stop cooking?" Whitney asked, curious. She had never been able to ask such questions of an adult before. Her teachers were too formal, Mrs. Figg didn't do anything really interesting, and, well, it was rather obvious why she couldn't speak with her aunt and uncle so frankly.

He gently pushed the onions around in the oil with a wooden spoon, sprinkling small-to-medium sized amounts cumin, garlic powder, and black peppercorns. "Well, I'll never _stop_ cooking," he said to her. "It's still very much something I enjoy. Of course, I enjoy it a lot more when I'm not cooking for a grade or a paycheck."

He turned around to let the onions caramelize and the spices soak in, looking at Whitney curiously. "So, Hermione here tells me you're something of a celebrity where you're from," he said, changing the topic of conversation so abruptly that Whitney had to take a moment to think what he was asking her.

Hermione turned red and hissed, "_Daaad!_," but her father didn't look particularly bothered that his question might have made anyone uncomfortable. He merely gave the onions a final stir before pouring tomato juice and diced tomatoes into the pan to let the water evaporate out for a few minutes. He stirred absently with one hand while focusing on Whitney, waiting for her answer.

Whitney cleared her throat, slightly pink around the ears, but answered, "Well… So I'm told. I mean, honestly… Honestly, I didn't know about any of it until I got my Hogwarts letter last year, like Hermione, but I suppose… I suppose I did something pretty great on accident when I was too young to remember and… Well, sometimes people make a fuss."

"Hah!"

Hermione's father gave a barking laugh so loud that Whitney flinched. He took his wooden spoon out of the beginnings of his chili and pointed it at her, tomato juice splashing on the stove and floor. "Modesty. Excellent quality, if I say so myself," he said, and Whitney slowly settled back into her seat. Hermione had buried herself in her own hair out of humiliation, and Whitney smiled a little.

"Thanks, I guess," she said, and the man went back to his cooking.

Whitney nudged Hermione with an elbow, and the girl looked up. "I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, but Whitney shook her head.

"It's all right," Whitney said, smiling. "He's great, really."

"He's _mortifying_," Hermione character under her breath, but Whitney only laughed.

"Come on," Hermione said, taking Whitney's hand and pulling her from the kitchen. Whitney looked down at Hermione hand over hers and was at once confused and hesitantly happy. Hermione really was the best girl friend she had ever had, but Whitney wasn't certain what to do with that knowledge. Play along for now, she guessed, until she figured out what having girl friends was like.

Seeing them leaving, Hermione's father waved his spoon again, sending tomato juice flying. "Dinner in an hour," he told them.

"Thank you, very much," Whitney barely managed as Hermione dragged her around the corner and up the stairs to her bedroom.

Hermione's room, as Whitney knew it would be, was perfectly spotless, with everything in its place other than a few school books scattered on a desk. Whitney shut the door behind her, looking around curiously at the light pink wallpaper, which matched the carpet and canopy bedspread.

"It's all really… pink, isn't it?" Whitney asked without meaning to.

Hermione laughed a little. "My mum has this sort of idea that if she surrounds me with pink, I'll start wearing dresses and flat-ironing my hair," she admitted, and Whitney grinned a little.

"I wish anyone cared enough what color my room was," Whitney said. "Up until last year, I didn't even _have_ a room. I slept in that cupboard under the st—"

She stopped suddenly at the look Hermione was giving her, and realized what she was saying. She coughed, not sure what else to do, and clammed up instantly. Hermione, in fact, was too stunned by what Whitney had said, that all she could do was stare, her mouth hanging part of the way open.

When the silence that spread between them was finally broken, it was Hermione who spoke. "That… You slept in that…? You slept in the _cupboard_? Where we got your _trunk_? Where we… God, that had to be _unlocked_?"

Whitney's mental walls were slamming back up again, and she went from uncomfortable to unresponsive in a few seconds. "Where's the bathroom?" she asked.

"Whitney, aren't you even going to—"

"Where's the bathroom," Whitney repeated, interrupting Hermione.

Hermione just looked at her for a moment, confused and hurt by this sudden change in her friend. "A… Across the hall," she said in a small voice, and Whitney very quietly left the room and went across the hall to the bathroom.

Once inside, Whitney went immediately to the sink and soaked her fingers under the running water, running them over her face where the water began to cool her down. Her breathing became shallow as she fought against tears. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, and when that made her dizzy, she sat on the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees.

After a few moments, when her breathing had finally become normal, there was a soft knock on the door of the bathroom. Hermione's voice, slightly muffled, called her name and asked, "Can… Can I come in?"

Whitney didn't reply, but she didn't move to stop Hermione from opening the door and stepping inside, closing it behind her. "Are you all right?" Hermione asked, no longer looking hurt, but rather intensely worried.

Whitney cleared her throat and nodded. She had successful held back her tears, but her face was bright red with exertion instead. Hermione didn't say anything else; she sat on the floor, cross-legged, in front of Whitney.

Whitney rested her chin on her own knees and settled her gaze somewhere in the vicinity of Hermione's shoes before speaking. "Yes," she said simply. "When I got back this summer, they told me to move my things into Dudley's second bedroom. They… probably think I'll turn them into lima beans or something."

"But, Whitney, we can't do magic on our own," Hermione said, not getting the point. "It's against the rules."

Whitney nodded. "Yes," she agreed, "but my aunt and uncle don't know that." She snorted at that. "Which is ridiculous, because my mum was a witch. Really goes to show you how much Petunia cared to pay attention to her sister after she learned she could do magic."

Whitney shook her head. "I don't want anyone to know," she says, her eyes finally lifting to meet Hermione's. "Not a soul, d'you understand?"

Hermione nodded seriously. "I would _never_," Hermione said, frowning at the very thought of betraying that trust.

"Good."

"Can we… go back to my room now?" Hermione asked. "Sitting on chairs would be more comfortable, you know?"

Whitney gave a half-smile and stood up, helping Hermione to her feet. The door opened suddenly and Moira Granger stood at the other side, looking a bit distracted. "Oh, good," she said evenly. "You're already getting washed up for supper. "Afterwards you can straighten your room, yes?" she asked. "Bit of a mess, isn't it?"

She left a moment later, and Whitney turned to Hermione. "Is she on something?" Whitney asked. "Your room's cleaner than my clothes."

Hermione laughed a little and shook her head. "We can always do better," she said in a slightly haughty tone that Whitney took to be an impression of her mother.

"Oh, can we?" Whitney joked, washing her hands in the sink.

Hermione nodded adamantly. "We can _do_ better; we can _be_ better," she restated, and Whitney smiled.

"Well, then we should really clean your room," she said with some sarcasm. "It's a sty."

Hermione grinned, washed her hands quickly, and then the pair of them walked down to dinner.


End file.
